


Burns

by Writerofthelord



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014, Episode: s05e04 The End, Gen, Supernatural AU: Croatoan/End'verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writerofthelord/pseuds/Writerofthelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>End!verse. While the world is falling apart, the hunters group together to fight against Croatoan and the usual monsters. Upon spending more and more time with them, though, Castiel finds his grace to be disappearing. Sam and Dean also attempt to stay strong, as it gets harder to resist Lucifer and Michael. Together, Team Free Will must stand tall and survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Crash

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually not even really interested in post-apocalypse related stuff, but I thought Supernatural's episode 'The End' had a really interesting take on things. Unusual affect on Castiel, tainted relationship between Sam and Dean, etc. So I figured I'd write about it. Characters like Jo, Bobby, Ellen, and Chuck will still be alive because I love them and want to write about them. Note: This is not in relation to the season 8 finale. It's only canon in regards to early season 5.

There was a car burning on the side of the road. 

It was a nice enough car. Sleek. Black. The kind of car that would make dead bodies look normal. And over the years, it did. Many times. Too many times. There was dried blood in those seats. There were scratches from clenched fingers. Windows that had been cracked over and over again.

Despite all that pain, though, this was the most suffering it had ever been through. The car itself had spent most of its life around fire. Flames. Its life began when a nursery room glowed bright and hot. When a small boy came rushing out of the house, his hands wrapped around the body of his baby brother. There was screaming and fear and a father’s leather jacket, wrapped around his son’s bony shoulders. There was a car, sitting in the street, the flames and tears reflected in its paint.

Castiel, angel of the lord, had witnessed the beginning of the Impala’s life. He was also there to see its end.

In the beginning, of course, he’d been young. Curious. Like his brothers, he knew what was meant to happen in the years to come. The two brothers, wide eyed and in pain, would grow to be strong, only to be broken down again. Again. Again. And Castiel had seen it happen, all of it. He had seen the family pile into their car and drive off into the dark night. Later, the car would drive through many more nights. There would be no homemade meals, a mother’s bedtime stories. There were only the stories children told at campfires, stories that weren’t supposed to be real.

The Winchester brothers knew the stories were real, though. They’d known their whole lives. Castiel would’ve done anything to change their past. He suspected that flipping the only home they knew wasn’t the kind of change they’d expected, though.

He hadn’t meant to crash it. He’d only recently learned how to drive, upon Dean’s insistence. “If I get hurt,” the hunter had told him, “I won’t be able to drive. And that’s on you. You’ve got to make sure we get out of shit alive.”

“My powers -”

“No, Cas. You’re not using them. They’ll only weaken you. Don’t even bother to hide it. You’re learning to drive whether you want to or not.”

So he did. Cas, friend of the Winchesters, reluctantly slid into the driver’s seat of the Impala. Dean guided him through the process of turning the key, starting the engine. He showed him how much pressure to put on the gas pedal, and how to use the steering wheel properly.

He was still terrible at it, despite his companion’s assistance. Yet there he was, forced into driving the car to get more supplies and medicine, only a week after his first driving lesson. It was a dangerous world, so he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. The Croatoan virus had spread so swiftly, so terribly. The hunters had no choice but to fight back, and in doing so, several of them had been severely injured. Including Dean.

That was the only reason why he’d agreed to drive. Dean was, in Cas’ opinion, the only one of the lot who was truly worth saving. He supposed there was a chance of bias there. Dean had, after all, become a close friend of his over the years. Somehow, despite their differences, they had unfailing trust in each other. 

Cas saw the other hunters, with their hands shoved in their pockets and their slow steps. Dean walked the same way, he knew, but it was different with him. When Dean’s hands were in his pockets, it helped him relax. When he walked slowly, it was to savor everything around him. All he had left.

There wasn’t much. He had a nearly broken, desperately loyal angel in a trenchcoat. He had his brother, Sam, who was getting closer and closer to saying yes to Lucifer. And then there was a fiercely determined Bobby, a cowardly Chuck, and the others. The others included women who didn’t seem particularly interested in survival, only sex. There were men, too, but they were almost always drunk, and even when sober, they were angry.

So when Cas saw them walking slowly, he saw no reason to have faith. When he saw their hands in their pockets, he swore he could see the outline of a weapon. He refused to trust these people. Only Dean. In turn, Dean had done the same.

And now his car was burning, and his angel was crouched in the middle of the road, frozen with fear. 

“What have I done?” he asked himself, swaying slightly as the flames danced before his eyes. “What have I done to the car? I -”

He paused, watching sparks strike the darkness. They lit up the street, they lit up everything. Cas frowned when he finally noticed the blood on his coat.

“I need to stop it.”

He rose to his feet, staggering on his numb legs, and limped towards the burning vehicle. It was lying there upside down, fire destroying it slowly. The car was tough. Cas knew that. But it wasn’t a match for fire. Nothing was.

“No,” he breathed, holding out a hand to steady himself. There was nothing for him to hold. Only the air. With a sudden burst of fear, he pushed himself a bit farther so that he fell forward onto the car. Agonizing pain shot through his body almost immediately. He screamed, slipping off and toppling to the ground. His clothes were scorched. His skin stun.

Castiel, nearly human, was isolated and had no means of transportation. Barely able to move, he chose to crawl on his hands and knees to the medical clinic. He didn’t have much farther to go. He could make it there in time, before the monsters found him. Before his allies died. 

Before the Impala was gone.

He reached the clinic with bloodied clothes and a cracked body. With the last of his energy, he dragged himself inside and let out a cry of pain. Within moments, he lay unconscious on the floor. Footsteps neared him.

Later that night, Cas found himself lying on a hospital bed. He could barely see anything; his vision was blurry. The images were vibrating. He could make out a woman standing beside him, smiling apologetically as she held out her hand. “Cas,” she said, and he recognized her voice.

“Jody?” he asked, groaning as he lifted himself into a sitting position. Not-so-much-sheriff Jody Mills, old friend of Bobby Singer’s. Kind. Friendly. Welcoming. After Croatoan, he remembered, she’d chosen to help in any way she could. She often went from hunting with the others to working at the clinic. She was good at helping people. She was good at loving.

“Hey. Mind telling me what happened?”

Cas nodded, wincing at the movement. “Dean and some of the others were attacked. I was chosen to come here and bring back supplies.”

Jody raised an eyebrow. “You walked? Cas, I know you’re an angel, but -”

“I crashed the Impala,” he explained, looking down at his hands. At his feet, dangling above the floor. Anywhere but Jody. He knew he’d do the same when he shared the information with Dean.

“You crashed the Impala.”

“Yes. I believe it was what you call an accident. I was driving and then some werewolves came running out of the forest. The car slammed into them and it flipped over and the werewolves ran off, and I somehow ended up outside. Alive. The car was not so lucky.”

Jody sighed, running a hand through her hair. She turned away from the angel. “Okay, what happened?”

“Last I saw, it was on fire and burning away to nothing.”

“Good luck.”

Cas tipped his head to the side. “Why?”

“Dean.”

“Oh.”

Jody smiled slightly. “Yeah. Oh.” She rolled up the sleeves of her denim jacket. “I’m gonna check out those burns of yours, now, okay, Cas? Let me know if anything hurts.”

Cas nodded, obediently shifting a bit closer to the woman. He’d be sad to leave her that night. She was comforting, patient. When he returned to camp, he knew they’d be angry. They’d yell at him, criticizing him for failing yet again. Sometimes he doubted that even Dean truly understood the pain of falling.

Of course, that didn’t matter now. Cas had destroyed the hunter’s home. If Dean forgave him for that, Castiel would never doubt him again.

“Here.”

The angel jumped, feeling something nudge his arm. He looked up, furrowing his brows at the sight of whiskey in Jody’s hands. “What is this?”

“Help,” she insisted, shoving the bottle into the angel’s lap. 

“I do not require -”

Jody shook her head, turning away. “Just drink it.”

Cas opened his mouth to protest, but decided against it and instead chose to open the bottle. He took a quick sip of it, wincing against the burning sensation in his throat. He liked it, though. He wasn’t sure why. But he did. He kept drinking.

Eventually, when the bottle was nearly empty, Jody stopped bandaging Cas’ wounds. “Alright, Cas. You’re all set.”

Cas blinked tiredly, gazing up at the woman. “You’ve finished?”

She nodded. “Yup.”

“Thank you,” Cas sighed, glancing down at the bottle in his hands. “I’m sorry to have troubled you. I’ll return the favor somehow.”

Jody rolled her eyes. “It’s my job, you idiot. Now come on. I’m not letting you walk back to camp by yourself. We’re driving.” Cas’ eyes widened. “Sorry. I’m driving. You’re sitting next to me, unless you’d prefer the flatbed.” She received a blank look. “It’s a truck. There’s no backseat.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Yeah, sure you do. Come on, up ya go.”

And with that, Jody dragged the barely conscious angel out of the clinic and shoved him into her truck. Cas pressed his face against the window and watched the road, listening to Jody ramble on about how much the apocalypse sucked. How much it sucked to be stuck with a broken angel. How much it sucked to lose everything.

Cas wondered if she noticed the ruined car on the side of the road. To him, that sucked most of all.


	2. Getting Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter turned out pretty okay. We've got Dean now, and he'll probably be in every chapter after this one. His reaction to the car crash isn't as mournful as you'd expect, I suppose, but I plan on showing its affects more in later chapters. Right now he's really just in a state of shock. Enjoy.

No one had died.

Not that week, not that day, not at all. It was a relief, Castiel realized, knowing that all his comrades were still alive. Injured, certainly. There was no doubt that the hunters were in pain, but then, they’d been in pain their whole lives. Cas knew the feeling. Millennia of fighting had hardened him considerably, made him strong. But even he knew the sorrow that came with the loss of a loved one, a companion.

That was, to him, the worst kind of suffering. As he sat inside the small cabin, listening to the rain pound against the roof, he could imagine the rains that had once brought a great flood. So many people had died that day, years and years ago. There were stories about it. Stories of the man, Noah, and his undying faith in God. A man who’d escaped from the floods that killed the people around him. People who’d made mistakes, but had also done wonderful things. People who didn’t get the chance to turn things around.

Did Noah ever feel guilty? The angel wondered, furrowing his brow at the thought. Leaving all those people to die. Abandoning them. Surely he missed them, mourned them. Afterwards, he probably questioned why he hadn’t tried to save them.

Cas didn’t know for sure what had really happened, of course. He and many of the other angels had witnessed the flood, but they hadn’t been allowed to interfere. No one questioned their orders.

Just like Noah, just because of God’s word. Cas clenched his fist, suddenly envious. Noah had seen his Father, hadn’t he? Noah knew. Noah could have no doubts.

Yet here was an angel of the lord, covered with third degree burns and miserably hiding inside an unstable cabin. He wasn’t sure how it happened. He didn’t know how he’d grown from a fully obedient soldier to a loving, yet wary man.

Man. 

What an interesting concept.

Man.

He felt as if he were a man. He had Jimmy’s body, of course. It was far different from his true form. But there was also a sense of emotion that he’d never experienced before. A desire to stand up and make a difference. A desire to care for others, and to be cared for in return.

That was what God wanted, wasn’t it? But no, not for angels. For the humans. Angels were meant to tolerate, defend, and guide the humans. They were not meant to love the humans. Sacrifice for them. And above all, the humans were not supposed to guide the angels.

“Cas?”

It was too late for that.

“Hello, Dean.”

The hunter had just stepped inside the cabin, water soaking through his clothes and dripping onto the wooden floor. His hair was pressed flat to his forehead. Cas watched as he swiftly crossed the room, kneeling down in front of the chair where the angel sat. “How are you, man? Jody told me that you were barely conscious when you got back here last night. Said you still had to recover from your . . . from your -”

“Wounds, Dean. Yes. I’ve been harmed. I’ll recover.”

Dean frowned, looking over his friend’s body. “You sure? When? How?”

Cas shrugged. “I don’t know. Jody treated my injuries before bringing me back. She said they weren’t serious. That I’d heal soon.”

“Cause you’re an angel, you idiot. You’re supposed to. That doesn’t mean that you will.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” Dean said, sighing. He ran his hands through his hair and rose to his feet. “I don’t want you to think I find you useless, because I don’t. But something’s not right about this, Cas. Something’s up. You crashed my car.”

Flinching, Cas turned away. “I’m sorry. That was not my intention.”

“No, I know, man. I know you didn’t want to crash it. My problem is that you actually drove when you could’ve zapped there with your angel mojo.”

Mojo.

Why hadn’t he used his mojo?

He could’ve flown to the clinic. He could’ve been there sooner and without trouble. And yet he chose to drive the Impala, despite his previous driving failures. And now it was gone. “I should’ve done that,” he breathed. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking. I -”

Dean reached out his hand, placing it on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m upset. Hell, I cried for hours as soon as I heard. But I’m not blaming you. I just want to know why your injuries aren’t healing up. Why you’re driving when you suck at it. What the hell is going on with you?”

Cas stared up at the hunter, shaking under his touch. His gaze. His eyes were flickering all over the place, never once leaving the angel. A mess. He was a mess. “I’m falling, Dean.”

“You . . . what?”

“I’ve spent too much time here. Years now. I haven’t spoken to my fellow angels in months. I’ve had no need to use my powers. I just . . . I’ve been with you and the others. And I’m not the same. I’m not.”

Dean leaned against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. “Damnit. You haven’t fallen completely yet, have you? I mean, you can still smite shit. And you can zap, you just forgot. Right?”

Cas did not respond.

“Answer me, Cas.”

“I . . . Angels are not supposed to forget anything, Dean. Ever.”

The two of them looked away from each other, then. They remained silent, listening to the rain pound against the roof. Outside, other hunters prepared for their next kills. Gunshots pierced the air. There was cheering. Laughter. There were car engines rattling, tires spinning up mud. 

There was a hunter and his angel friend, sitting inside an old cabin and wondering where it all went wrong. Cas figured it began with the car. It began with his first time riding shotgun, seeing the world flow by, living within his own small world inside the vehicle.

It ran on love, that car. That once unbreakable, powerful car. And love had been its downfall. Cas wouldn’t be surprised if it was his, too.


	3. Hey, Jude

That week, the hunters mourned.

They mourned anyways, really. They mourned when they were unable to save someone. When the music only played for men in black jeeps, armed with every weapon imaginable. They mourned the early years, when their worse problems were stray wendigos and doubtful law enforcement.

That week, they mourned Sal Moriarty’s car.

The Winchesters’ home.

Castiel watched the hunters wander throughout the camp. None of them said a word. Sometimes they’d look up, nod in greeting. But that was only for Sam and Dean. The two brothers were constantly together. In their plaid shirts and leather jackets, Dean with his amulet, they looked just as they always had since that day nine years ago when they went off to find their father together. That day, they’d been in a sleek black car. They were leaving behind a blond girl who was destined to die later that week. Rock music had been playing in the background.

Back then, they didn’t know about angels. The apocalypse. Everything. And the last sign of that innocence was gone. There was nothing for those boys but each other.

The other hunters were ashamed. Guilty. They greeted the boys in hopes of forgiveness. In hopes that they wouldn’t be blamed for sending an angel off in a car. “We had to think fast,” they’d say, trailing behind the brothers as they headed towards their cabin. “Cas was just there. He couldn’t help with anything else. He doesn’t know how to treat wounds or anything. We figured he could at least drive somewhere without ruining everything.”

Cas could hear them. He saw the way they rolled their eyes at the mention of his name. A falling angel, incapable of doing anything, really. Oh, he tried. They all knew that. He didn’t spend his days cowering away in the cabin, not if he could help it. He liked walking with the Winchester brothers. He liked sharing a couple of beers with Bobby and Ellen. He liked watching Rufus tell Jo and Ash old war stories, and he liked to hear the stories, too.

He didn’t have much purpose, though, and he was never able to deny that. The hunters kept quiet around him, didn’t say a word. Sometimes they’d smile softly, give him a brief wave or salute, but it never lasted. He didn’t know half of them. He’d hear someone call out Leslie and he wouldn’t be able to tell whether it was a man or a woman.

Sam and Dean, that’s what he had. They still spoke to him, the two of them. Dean especially. “We get it, man,” Sam would tell him, as Cas sat on the porch of his cabin and complained. He felt the need to do that lately. Angels weren’t meant to complain. They were meant to accept. He supposed that ended when their Father left, though. They were like a bunch of rebellious teenagers. As soon as their Father was out of the way, they did whatever they wanted. Cas wasn’t sure if he should be proud of their free thinking, or concerned. Lately, he just felt ashamed.

“It’s not your fault you can’t do much. I mean, your siblings practically abandoned you as soon as you started helping us. Don’t send you a Christmas card or anything. We’re your real family, you got that? God, wherever the hell He is, decided you deserved to be stuck with us sorry bastards here on earth. Whether that’s punishment or a reward, that’s your choice. But you’re stuck with us and can’t do a damn thing. So whatever you can or cannot do, that’s on us. We’ll take care of you, man. You’ve got to let us take care of you.”

Dean talked to him like that. He was the only one. Cas appreciated the words, though, even if he only heard them from one guy, and that guy happened to be drunk when he said them. Cas didn’t mind. He never got drunk. He hoped that someday, if he did happen to become intoxicated, he’d find words that could lift people up. Just the way Dean did that, and the way Sam gave a supportive smile. That was nice. Drunk people were nice.

The two brothers were still nice, even when they were avoiding their angel comrade. They were avoiding just about everyone, really. They didn’t say anything when people asked for forgiveness. They ignored anyone who tried to blame someone else, even when that someone else was Castiel.

Mostly, they just talked about memories. They’d go off into the woods together, rifles slung over their shoulders. Their boots would leave matching footprints in the dirt. They’d leave all quiet and solemn, and when they came back, they were still quiet, but they had smiles on their faces.

“Did you kill anything?” the hunters would ask, following them curiously. 

“Nah. We’ve already killed everything we needed to,” one of the brothers would respond, and he’d nudge the other in the elbow. And just like that, they’d be smiling the whole day.

Cas knew what they talked about. He didn’t spy on them, follow them. He just saw the way Dean would be fingering the amulet around his neck, and the way Sam’s hair was all messed up, like someone ran their hand through it.

Castiel had never done anything of the sort with his own brothers. The last time they mourned was when their Father had left them. The mourning period had been brief. Cas had some memories of time spent with his siblings, with Anna and Balthazar and Uriel, but they never talked about it. It was as if they were ashamed. As if they didn’t want to remember those days.

They needed a car, he decided. The angels had spent too much time alone. They traveled by flight, with wings. And as soon as they reached their destination, which was only a matter of seconds, they got straight down to business. Cas wasn’t sure why, but it seemed that the angels didn’t see much purpose beyond duty.

There was no room for love or family in duty, he realized. Only obligation. And that wasn’t family. Not in the slightest.

Even Sam and Dean, whose father hadn’t been much better than God, still found some love. When they were in that car, driving anywhere, everywhere, there was nothing but the three of them. They could fight, argue, but that was how they came to understand each other. There was more to them than hunting, more than weapons and monsters and hideous motel rooms. There was ‘Hey, Jude’ playing on their mother’s old radio, which Sam used to hold on his lap in the backseat. There were pictures crammed into the rear-view mirrors, faded and wrinkled from years of hands gripping them tight.

Once, Cas had gripped something tight. Someone. He pulled that someone out of Hell, not because he cared about that human or his brother or whatever happened to either of them. He did so out of obligation.  
Now, though, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to save them if any harm came their way. He wouldn’t hesitate to help them, even if it meant defying his celestial family. He could only help that the Winchesters felt the same way. 

They were brothers, those two. They had a burned car and the angel who ruined it for them, but they were still stargazing when they thought no one was looking, and that was enough for them.

Cas figured he should get a car for himself. Maybe he could have pictures, then. Pictures and fights over who got to pick the music. For a while, he wondered what his siblings’ favorite songs would be. He still didn’t know his own.


	4. South Carolina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took me a while to update. It's one of my longer chapters, though, so I guess that makes up for it. Anyways, when I was first introduced to Bobby in Supernatural, I kept reading South Dakota as South Carolina. I spent three months thinking that's where he lived. And then one day, I realized that didn't make any sense, and that's when I realized I was an idiot. My stupidity is what inspired this chapter, the story of Camp Chitaqua. Next chapter will have more action, I promise. Enjoy.

Camp Chitaqua, with its rundown cabins and overgrown woods, had once been known as Singer’s Salvage Yard. When the hunters first heard about the Croatoan virus, they’d all flocked there. It was instinct. None of them had planned to meet. Everyone expected Bobby’s help, though. They all knew him. They were familiar with his overflowing bookcases, his association with the Winchesters, everything. Knowing Bobby, they assumed he’d know exactly what to do.

He was in a wheelchair, and that should have been their first warning. When Bobby felt useless, he became useless. “I can’t help ya,” he’d told them when they came to his front door, wide eyed and hopeful. “I can’t help any of ya. Go find the damn cure yourselves. I’ve got enough problems to worry about.”

Castiel felt sorry for the man. He’d grown to like him over the years. Why, he wasn’t quite sure. It wasn’t as if Bobby was a father figure to him, not the way he was for Sam and Dean. But there was something about the man that seemed worth protecting, and as soon as Dean told him about the virus, he went to the salvage yard.

“Bobby,” he’d said. He remembered the exact way it happened. He remembered a dark sky and ruined cars. Broken bottles littering the ground. South Dakota was cold that time of year, and although Cas wasn’t supposed to feel the bitterness, he clutched his trenchcoat closer to his body. “Bobby, please come outside.”

He heard creaking wheels, first, and then Bobby was in the doorway of his home, staring at the angel with a raised eyebrow. “What the hell do you want?”

Cas had stepped closer to the front porch. “There’s a virus.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, idjit.”

“I want to be here to help you.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

The angel stiffened. “With you being in your current condition, I assumed you might need my assistance. I am willing to do anything necessary or unnecessary, as long as it pleases you.”

“Which one of those boys put you up to this? Was it Dean?”

“No.” Cas blinked. “It was my decision and mine alone. When I heard about the virus, I knew you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself and I -”

The door slammed shut behind Bobby’s retreating figure. Cas wasn’t sure why. He remained standing there for a while, waiting for the hunter to reappear, but he never did. Eventually, he headed over to one of the rusted cars and climbed inside. He spent the night lying on the seat, searching for threats outside the window. The only one that came was a note in a bottle. Bobby had thrown it out the window of his house. He had impeccable aim. The bottle crashed into the car and hit Cas on the head. The note inside promised that if he did not leave the yard within ten minutes, Bobby would light the car on fire with holy oil. 

Castiel chose to venture inside the house, instead. He knew that Bobby could never burn down his home.

Just like that, they were stuck together. Cas learned that Sam and Dean were on their way to help out, but they were on the other side of the country, so for about a week, it was just Cas and Bobby, sharing the old house. 

Bobby hated it at first. He refused to speak to the angel. Left to his own company, Cas wandered around the house quietly and waited for something bad to happen. Without some problem going on, he felt useless. He wanted the Croats to appear outside the window, rabid and angry and wild. He wanted to step up to them and press his hand to their foreheads and kill them within seconds.

They didn’t come, though. Not until later, when Bobby had gone off into the scrapyard to repair a car. He’d given up on completely ignoring Cas, as he was always around. So they’d exchange a few words, let each other know what was going on, and then they’d separate. The method worked well.

Castiel still watched over the hunter, though, which proved useful when the Croats attacked. He saw the man get pulled out of his wheelchair, shoved to the ground. Bobby swore, craning his neck as he tried to stray away from his attackers. 

“Bobby!”

And just like that, Castiel was at his side, fighting back the Croats. One of them bit him. He didn’t notice. He didn’t notice how they scratched at his arms, pulled him towards them. His trenchcoat was getting torn apart. Strands of hair were tugged from his head. He ignored it all. He just kept killing.

When the Croats were dead, their eyes burned away and hands lying uselessly at their sides, Cas lifted Bobby back into his chair and rolled him into the house. They didn’t speak to each other. They sat in the living room with guns in their laps. 

Later, the scattered old cars would be used as shields, barriers. Hidden cameras would be crammed into the branches of trees. Bobby adopted a stray dog and taught it how to fight back against threats.

This was the beginning of Camp Chitaqua.

No one really knew how that name came to be. They didn’t particularly care, though. Most hunters just called it “the camp.” Sam, well, he called it South Carolina.

“But we’re in South Dakota,” Castiel protested.

“Sam used to think this was South Carolina,” Dean explained, smirking at the sight of his brother’s flushed face.

Sam shrugged, running his hand through his hair. “Well, excuse me for being tired the first time we came here. I wasn’t exactly paying attention. They both have South in the name, anyways.”

“South Dakota is barely even south, Sam.”

“It’s south to North Dakota. South Carolina is south to North Carolina.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean shook his head. “Come on. South Carolina doesn’t even get paranormal activity. It’s like it was made of salt or something.”

Cas spoke up, then. “Well, it is near the ocean.”

Both brothers whipped around to face him. “Shut up, Cas.”

Cas later saw that he wasn’t the only one annoyed with their banter. Although the brothers had a perfect understanding of each other, the rest of the world was left to figure it out on their own. Several groups of hunters searching for their camp had ended up in South Carolina rather than their true destination. When they finally arrived at Chitaqua, they were not pleased. Cas hid in the cars with Jo Harvelle, who easily found the camp, and watched the boys deal with the frustrated hunters.

Jo was good company because, unlike many of the other hunters, she actually seemed to enjoy hunting. She explained to Cas that her father was the one who inspired her to start, but she was never forced into the life. She just thought it was admirable and wanted to help people.

“I’m prepared for this,” she told him once, tapping her feet on the dashboard of a ’65 El Camino. “I’m here to help others, not to run away. Not to seek shelter. I don’t think the people here are cowards or anything, don’t get me wrong. But I think we should all be putting in some effort to survive.”

Cas nodded, impressed. He remembered hearing about her first hunt with the Winchesters. It had not ended well, and yet, Jo had kept at it. He figured she was one of the more sensible hunters around, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to confide in her. “Do you ever regret it?”

Jo continued tapping her feet. “No. I could never regret helping others.”

“Even if it puts you in a difficult position?”

“Even if it puts me in a difficult position.”

They seemed sane compared to the rest of the hunters, at least. 

Many hunters had come from across the country, losing companions as they fought their way towards camp. More than anything, they each wanted a long rest with a rifle hidden under their pillow. Too many nights had been spent on the run, hoping for safety.

When they finally reached the camp, most of them spent a while fighting with the Winchesters, angry with the name confusion and the time they spent on their own, unprotected. If the fights went too far, Jo and Cas ventured out of the cars and attempted to calm each of the angry parties. Eventually, they’d all relax and sit on the porch, sharing whatever information they had.

At this point in time, most hunters knew the difference between South Carolina and South Dakota. They knew that wendigos were currently the most common threat besides Croatoan, as the virus tended to turn people into cannibals. They knew that the new national anthem was American Pie because it didn’t really matter anymore and anyways, everyone liked irony.

There was no news on angels, though. Not until two weeks after the destruction of the Impala.

It came from a middle aged man in a cowboy hat, who’d been traveling with his teenage daughter. They were originally from Kansas, like the Winchesters. Like so many others, they went off to South Carolina in search of the camp. They stayed there longer than most, though, because they’d never seen the ocean before and they wanted to enjoy it for a while.

“We were spending every day on the beach,” the man explained, “and one of those days, these people in suits pop up in the middle of the water and they just stared at us. Said they were angels, there to help us. Didn’t look like they wanted to help, if you ask me. But they knew about the Winchesters and we realized that we both mixed up the place – South Dakota, South Carolina, what’s the damn difference? – and we came here. The angels might’ve followed us, I don’t know. But I’d be careful if I were you. They’ll probably be here soon enough.”

Cas hung on to the man’s every word. These were his siblings, his brethren. His celestial family was coming to find his human family. He knew that soon, they’d be leaving. They were always meant to go. Earth wasn’t a permanent place for most angels, not unless they fell.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do when they arrived, really. 

Part of him longed to return to heaven with them. He missed Balthazar, Anna, Rachel, and the other members of his garrison. Even Uriel would’ve been nice to see, though Cas remembered his death all too well. 

He wondered what they might say to him, if they’d be angry with his absence or if they’d be happy to find him. Surely they knew he was living with the Winchesters. They probably weren’t aware that he’d burned a car, of course, or that he was hit by an old drunk on a regular basis. But everyone knew about his relations with the Winchesters, his newfound compassion for them. And they’d do whatever it took to tear him away from them.

Cas decided to wait for the angels on the porch of Bobby’s house, where he could see everyone arrive and see everyone leave. He wanted to know why they came and left. He knew why he’d return to Heaven. He wasn’t sure why he’d leave the Winchesters to do it.


End file.
